


witness

by wondybread



Category: Booksmart (2019)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-07
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:27:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,513
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23523796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wondybread/pseuds/wondybread
Summary: Hope and Amy participate in the act of getting to know and knowing each other.
Relationships: Amy/Hope (Booksmart), Annabelle | Triple A & Hope (Booksmart), Annabelle | Triple A/Molly (Booksmart)
Comments: 35
Kudos: 204





	1. preface

“what suffering is behind _your_ anger?”  
-Sophocles 

Amy closes the door of the bathroom and finally releases a shuddering breath, leaning her hands on the bathroom sink. She glances at herself in the mirror. She looks a mess, hair wet from the pool and her eyes filling with tears and before she can stop herself, a sob escapes her.

“What the fuck?”

Amy jolts at the voice and whips around to find Hope, of all people, lounging on top of the toilet seat, joint in hand. Hope gestures vaguely toward the door.

“I locked that,” she comments much too casually.

Amy glances at it before looking down at her hands, catching a glimpse of red-rimmed eyes in the mirror.

“Well, I guess you didn’t,” she mutters, fighting to keep the annoyance out of her tone. Hope’s not giving her a reason to be anything but nice after all. She half-expects and half-wishes for Hope to get up and leave. But Amy doesn’t hear any movement behind her. Instead, Hope speaks again.

“What’s wrong with you? Fight with your wife?”

Something reacts in Amy at that. Amy closes her eyes and this seems to keep it at bay.

“Can you please just leave me alone?” Amy can hear how her voice sounds: both desperate and angry. But mostly angry and she forces her tone away from that anger halfway through her sentence. Although, Hope doesn’t seem to notice and she doesn’t stop, immediately diving into more barbed questions.

“Why are you even at a party? Shouldn’t you be marching in some meaningless protest somewhere? Or, I don’t know, in your bed doing homework?”

Again, something in Amy stirs, more powerful than before. Amy shakes her head slightly as if to rid herself of it. She keeps her eyes on her hands.

“You don’t know me,” Amy says coolly.

“Pretty sure I do,” Hope mutters and that something in Amy twists with a finality. Amy doesn’t bother to rein it in as she looks sideways at Hope.

“No, you’re just someone who thinks they're honest, or are calling people on their shit, when they’re really just mean,” she snaps. Amy feels a flicker of regret after this. But that thing inside her, that’s egging her just as much as Hope is, is finally silent. She looks back at her hands, somewhat emotionally exhausted. 

“Wow. Wow, I take it back.” She hears Hope stand behind her, and she’s so relieved that Amy ignores how Hope's admission seems a little amiss. “You are a badass.” Amy notes, heart sinking, that Hope takes two strides to her, not towards the door, and Amy looks down at her hands again. But Hope doesn’t let her, leaning in close to Amy and forcing her to make eye contact. “Who takes no prisoners. And cries in the bathroom at parties.” 

Hope has already moved to stand behind Amy, but Amy is so angry that the breath has already left her lungs. She blinks at Hope, turning to face her fully, mechanically as the blood rushes in her ears and that – monster inside her howls. Her eyes fall quickly to Hope’s jacket, specifically the hand that’s oh-so casually leaning against the wall, the tassels on the arm of it hanging in the air as if barring Amy in and keeping her hostage.

“Why are you so cruel?”

Hope’s flippant shrug makes Amy’s jaw twitch and Amy knows that that monster is lying in wait.

“I just don’t like meek people. And you –” Hope scoffs, eying her up and down, “are just Molly’s little sidekick bitch.”

Amy practically feels that monster snarl, hears a high-pitched sound as she steps toward Hope.

“Well, you’re just a basic hot girl who’s going to peak in high school,” Amy snaps. And Amy feels powerful when Hope’s expression tumbles into surprise and confusion. But this is short-lived when Hope blinks and she’s looking at Amy in way that’s altogether animal and, and…something else. It’s only logical that Amy acts on instinct, surging forward to kiss Hope.

Hope breaks the kiss and Amy’s blood runs cold. But then Hope chuckles and bites her lip, staring at Amy’s lips, all the while with that same look of something else. Amy thinks she knows what it is…

Amy kisses Hope a second time, and it’s this second time that gives Amy the answer: that towering, biting Hope buckles under Amy, craving to be devoured. Hope parts her lips as if to confirm this and Amy smiles against them, triumphant, yanking Hope’s jacket off decisively.

_Now who’s the meek one?_ Amy thinks, head foggy with want. And when Hope makes a noise that sounds almost like a whimper, Amy takes that as an answer.

Everything that does and doesn’t happen following this seems not just animal, but alien. Amy can already tell that she’s going to obsess over this moment, over Hope, for a long time. Amy shuts the door to the bathroom. Botswana can’t come fast enough.

\---

After graduation, Hope bumps into Annabelle. They pose for pictures at their parents' insistence and Hope actually likes some of them. Their parents are so...proud of them, Hope can see it. Hope is both embarrassed and pleased by this. Her parents are talking eagerly to Annabelle's and before either Hope or Annabelle knows it, both sets of parents have decided that they are celebrating together, and they head over to the nearest restaurant for lunch. 

The restaurant is crowded, packed full of other students from Crockett and the lunchtime rush. So, Hope and Annabelle's parents are seated a little ways away from them.

"Congratulations, graduate," Annabelle says with a grin, holding up her drink.

"Congratulations to you as well. To all the memories we never made," Hope responds, clinking her glass against Annabelle's.

"Bitch." Annabelle shakes her head good-naturedly before taking a sip of her drink.

"So, where'd you get off to after the party?" Hope asks. "Did you see Amy get arrested?"

Annabelle shakes her head. "I left early. I ended up taking Molly Davidson home."

"And?" Hope asks, wiggling her eyebrows.

"And nothing. Just dropped her off at her house. We did talk a little in the car though, it was nice."

" _Just_ talked?"

Annabelle shoots her a look.

“Yes, just talked. Do you have to be such a frat boy about it?”

“We were frat boys before we were friends,” Hope replies, grinning impishly as Annabelle rolls her eyes.

"What about you? You were still there when the cops came, yeah? Did you see Amy then?" Annabelle asks, stuffing a fry into her mouth.

"No."

Annabelle looks up at Hope's clipped tone as she tries to suppress a sly smile. 

"Did you see her before?"

_Damn_. Annabelle is much too perceptive for her own good.

Hope hesitates. "We kind of...almost hooked up in the bathroom."

"Fuck yes, you finally hooked up with Amy Antsler! How was it?" Annabelle asks, reaching over and punching Hope in the shoulder.

"Almost," Hope corrects before diving right into the details of that night.

Annabelle stops her midway. "Wait, she was wearing Ms. Fine's dress?"

"Yeah. She said it was all Ms. Fine had," Hope says, thinking back. Although not too far back. Recalling Amy undressing is still very overwhelming. Even in retrospect.

"Did she also fuck Ms. Fine?" Annabelle mutters, partially to herself.

Hope looks up at Annabelle sharply. 

"What?" Hope asks, louder than she'd intended.

So, Annabelle tells her how Theo had apparently slept with Ms. Fine. Hope almost doesn't believe it. Except Hope would also have never believed that Amy Anstler would kiss her and get arrested on the same night. So really, Theo sleeping with Ms. Fine is mild.

“That’s so fuckin’ wild,” Hope says when she finishes, shaking her head. 

“Right? Anyway, Amy was taking off her dress.” Annabelle motions for Hope to continue.

“Sorry, could you speak a little louder? I don’t think our parents heard you.”

Annabelle gives her an appraising look. “You’re stalling. They’re not even paying attention.”

Hope hesitates again before reluctantly telling her about the aftermath.

“Yikes, that sucks,” Annabelle says with a grimace. “Poor Amy.” Hope stares at her, so Annabelle continues. “Come on, we both know it was a shitty time for you but she’s probably traumatized.”

“She vomited on me,” Hope reminds her.

Annabelle glances at her before setting her cup down almost in frustration.

“Hope, I get it. I’m not saying it’s not gross and that your feelings aren’t valid. I’m just saying that this girl you’ve liked for forever, who you _bullied_ , had a bad experience with you. And the entire time, her only concern was you. The least you could do is just consider how she might be feeling. Besides, it’s not like she did it on purpose.”

Silence.

“I only started liking her a couple of months ago,” Hope mutters. “And I didn’t _know_ until last night.”

To Hope’s surprise, Annabelle stares at her, her expression flickering between surprise, sympathy, and exhaustion in quick succession.

“Right,” Annabelle replies with a snort, reaching again for her cup. “You know, if you want anything with Amy, if you still like her, which I suspect you do, it’s gonna have to come from you. Looks like you’re gonna have to be brave.”

Hope bristles a little at this and Annabelle arches a brow at her defiantly.

“You saying I’m not brave?”

“Of course not. Teasing the girl you like and metaphorically tugging on her pigtails is the brave and normal way to get her attention,” Annabelle tells her sardonically.

“As brave and normal as yearning after a girl for years like we’re in a goddamn Jane Austen novel,” Hope retorts. 

Annabelle only smiles placidly.

“You're right. Two sides of the same coin, Hope.”

They’re quiet for a moment. Annabelle rarely comes back with a cutting remark when Hope is being a bitch just to be a bitch. But Annabelle was never one to shy away from her either because Annabelle is honest, the type of honest that even Amy knows Hope isn’t. Turns out, Hope needed exactly that throughout high school. It didn’t always work, if her treatment of Amy is any indication. But she’s working on it. Annabelle doesn't know it but Hope is glad that they're friends and she knows she’s gonna miss Annabelle when they part ways for college.

Annabelle offers her ranch dip to Hope: a peace offering. Hope takes it, flashing a brief smile. 

"Amy looked cute this morning, didn't she?" Annabelle comments nonchalantly.

Hope knows that Annabelle is baiting her into something. But it’s not like Hope can _deny_ it.

"Yeah, she did."

Annabelle leans towards her with gleaming eyes. "Did the prison sweats do it for you?"

"Shut the fuck up," Hope says, shaking her head with a grin. A blush creeps onto her cheeks. "She's cute, okay? I'd kill to see her smile again."

"Does this mean I'm gonna die?" Annabelle asks. Hope frowns at her and Annabelle nods at the door behind her. Hope turns quickly, just in time to see Amy pulling Molly along as they trail behind Amy's parents. Amy's changed into jeans and a striped sweater. It’s a relatively normal Amy outfit but Hope finds herself staring anyway. 

Hope and Annabelle eye Molly and Amy surreptitiously as they talk animatedly and wait for the host with Amy’s parents. As much as Molly drives Hope up the fuckin' wall, Hope kind of loves seeing them together. There's a warmth about them that leaves Hope feeling both envious and fascinated. She watches as Amy leans towards Molly, Amy’s smile growing slowly across her lips. And before Hope stops to think about it, she whips out her phone and snaps a picture of them. Even gets another good one of Amy laughing.

"Do you have to be such a creep?" Annabelle asks as she gestures for the phone to get a better look.

"When the light is perfect, you don't question it," Hope says with a shrug, conveniently leaving out that Amy looks good in any lighting. "And anyway, I just did you a favor."

Annabelle snorts. "How's that?"

"You have Davidson's number?"

"No." 

Hope motions for Annabelle's phone, who unlocks it for her as she frowns curiously. Hope quickly texts Annabelle the picture, then downloads it onto Annabelle's phone. 

"Well, show her the picture and go get her number."

It takes Annabelle a moment, but then it dawns on her and she looks suddenly nervous, throwing a quick glance in Amy and Molly's direction.

"Come with me?" Annabelle asks. 

Hope thinks about it, but then her mom is gesturing wildly to her, mouthing to her that her grandmother is on the phone. Hope lays a hand on Annabelle's shoulder as she rises.

"Be cool, you got this." But Hope sees that Annabelle looks genuinely anxious. She gets it. It’s hard to be brave in the day time. "It's not like you're gonna come out of it having accidentally done anal. So..."

Annabelle lets out a light laugh. "Yeah. I kinda almost wish something like that had happened with me and Molly though. It’s a good conversation starter, you have something to move forward from."

"You know, it actually wasn't that bad," Hope responds thoughtfully.

Annabelle turns to Hope abruptly, eyebrows raised. "Oh, we're definitely talking about that later, you fuckin' freak."

Hope rolls her eyes and flips her off behind her back as she makes her way over to her mom.

Annabelle and Hope are walking slowly to their respective cars as Annabelle fills in the last few details of her interaction with Molly and Amy.

"You know, Amy doesn't have your number," Annabelle comments, looking sideways at Hope.

"Don't see why she would." Hope pauses. "How do you know that?"

Annabelle gives her a cryptic smile. "She's leaving for Botswana soon, so you should probably take care of that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'll shirk my duties for a bit just because co-star told me to. thank you for reading!


	2. pretty sure

“I: I wanted to know you.  
M: I wanted far more.”  
-Anne Carson

###### 

Amy understands game-changers because her dad had always used that term growing up. _Your mom was a game-changer_ , he would say and her mom would blush just as Amy does now. So. Amy knows what those are. Actually, kind of lives for them. Loves finding that one piece that flips a situation on its head. When she discovered that Molly had feelings for Nick, that was a game-changer and so help her God, nothing on Earth was gonna stop them from going to Nick's party. Not even Molly.

When Hope had come to her house to give Amy her phone number, that was a game-changer. Because Hope never speaking to Amy again would have been such a relief. But Hope seeking Amy out and giving Amy her _number_ is a goddamn miracle. And Amy doesn't question it. Amy knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Amy glances at the clock at her bedside. She might just catch Hope before she goes to bed. She reaches for her phone, fingers hovering over the screen. They haven’t had a real conversation in over a month and Amy attributes this to Hope’s midterms and their overall busy-ness. But a small, dark part of Amy thinks that maybe Hope doesn’t want this with Amy, whatever this is. That she’s found someone else who is beautiful and adventurous and real. This makes her hesitate but Amy wants to be brave and she also wants to see Hope. And it’s the last part that finally gives Amy the push to FaceTime her. Hope picks up on the fourth ring.

"Hey."

"Jesus, fuck!" Amy cries, looking away quickly.

"I'm gonna try not to be offended by that."

"You're taking a bath, Hope. You're _naked_ ," Amy whispers. Like she doesn't know. "We can talk another time."

"But I'm free now."

"But you're naked."

"I'm aware," Hope replies, and Amy's still not looking at her but she knows Hope's smirking. "That’s kinda how this works. And anyway you've seen me naked before."

"Not wet!"

"Very wet actually. In fact, unless my memory fails me, you were _also_ naked and wet," Hope answers slyly. Amy presses her lips together as thoughts of Hope like that swim past her mind’s eye, siren-like. "I was stressed so I decided to take a bath. Okay, okay, would you look at me? I swear you won't see anything. Unless you want to."

"Hope!"

"Alright, alright," Hope says with a laugh. "You're such a prude. See? Just my face."

Amy turns back slowly, cautiously to Hope's smile. Her hair is in a messy bun and Amy can hear the water gently sloshing around her as Hope shifts a little. Hope's right, Amy can't see anything. But it's still fucking hard to focus. As if Hope’s face alone isn’t distracting enough.

"Why are you stressed?" Amy asks finally.

Hope shrugs. "I had a test today."

"History, right?"

"Yeah, there was a chapter I didn't study as thoroughly as the others and there were more questions from it than I expected."

"You're still making an A?"

Hope nods. "But if I do well, I don't have to take the final."

It’s dumb. Amy knows it’s dumb. But hearing Hope talk about school and studying, hearing how much she cares about it and wants to do well, is pretty attractive. Amy didn’t know Hope in high school, and hadn’t really spared her much thought during their time there. But now she has this opportunity to change that, to really get to know Hope. And the more she knows, the more she realizes that there’s so much more to know about Hope. And Amy wants it. All of it. Not for the first time, she silently thanks Molly and even Nick, who unknowingly, took Hope and Amy away from their tangent path and gave them more. _An opportunity for more,_ her mind corrects. _The rest is up to us_.

"I see. Well, historically, you've done pretty well so it's safe to say that you'll do well now, despite your misgivings. And if you don't, you'll go from there and kill it."

Not one of Amy’s best pep talks but Hope gives her a small smile and it makes Amy feel like she's done something great.

"That's somehow strangely comforting, thank you." Hope leans her head back against the rim of the bathtub, exposing the long column of her throat and her sloping collarbones. Amy kind of suspects that she's doing it on purpose. "I wish you were here."

"Like...in the bathtub with you?"

Hope's expression turns sultry so suddenly that Amy bites the inside of her cheek hard and she knows it'll leave a welt.

"Only if you're willing." Hope laughs again, short and airy, when she spots Amy's look of panic. "But I mean, just in general."

Amy blows out a breath. "Just a few more months."

Hope looks at her for a moment. "I know."

The way she says it makes Amy wonder if Hope is counting down the days, just like she is.

"Well, I'll let you get back to relaxing. I'll talk to you later?"

"Of course, thanks for calling, Amy. It was good to see you."

"It was good to see you too," Amy says softly.

"I mean, you could have seen _more_ of me."

"I'm hanging up now," Amy mutters as the heat creeps up her neck. She ends the call on Hope's lilting laugh ringing in her ears.

Amy glances at her clock again. She'll just barely make it on time for work. Amy has no regrets about it.

Fifteen minutes later, she's walking around the groups of women, observing their tampon-making when she gets a text from Hope. Curious, Amy opens the message and lets out a squeak, her phone falling from her hands. The group of women closest to her jump and Amy quickly scrambles for her phone. They ask her if she's okay and Amy replies that she's fine without looking them in the eye. They ask her if she's feeling well because she looks a little flushed and Amy mumbles something about feeling a little hot. They shoo her away to get some water.

When alone, Amy looks at the message again. It's a picture of Hope. In the bathtub. All collarbone and cheekbones in full view with her lips parted slightly. And somehow her eyes are smirking? Like she knows _exactly_ what this picture will do (is doing) to Amy. She's fucking striking. Amy runs her tongue across the welt in her cheek.

Amy thinks about what to text back: _fuck me_. She's satisfied with this response, both an exclamation and a request. As she walks towards the women again, Amy thinks about her next move. Because this, and maybe Hope in general, is a game-changer.

\---

Some time after the new year, Hope gets an email that she has mail waiting to be picked up at the resource center.

Hope frowns. _Who the fuck sends mail_? Her parents, maybe. Although, they usually send a text giving her a heads up. Hope peeks at her watch. She has a little over an hour before her next class, so she pivots on her heel and makes her way over to the resource center.

Hope throws open the door as she tugs off her headphones.

“Hey, Nia. I have a mail apparently?” Hope asks, reaching for her student ID.

Nia smiles at her, glancing at Hope’s ID before waving it away. 

“Hey, Hope. Yeah, it’s a summons.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Hope says with a chuckle. But she does have a brief moment where she believes that she’s actually done something illegal, even though she knows that’s impossible.

Nia hands her a single piece of mail.

“Thank you,” Hope says. It’s a postcard from Amy. Hope turns it over in her hand curiously.

“No prob, see you in class!”

Hope’s still looking at it as she’s walking out the door. The front of the postcard has a pair of rhinos against the backdrop of a sunset with Khama Rhino Sanctuary across the bottom. Hope flips it over again. The message from Amy is short, but Hope feels a pang of something at the sight of Amy’s neat scrawl. It reads:

_We visited the rhino sanctuary today, can’t wait to tell you about it! I thought the sunset on this was really beautiful, which reminded me of your photography and you. Hope you’re well! –Amy_

Hope swallows and slips the postcard into her coat pocket carefully. It’s kind of astonishing how this little postcard with this little message from Amy can make her feel so much and so many different things all at once. She knows that she’s gonna unpack every single thing about it with Annabelle over FaceTime later tonight. But for now, she just lets Amy astonish her.

\---

A week after classes have started, Amy gets a text from Hope. It’s been a few days since they last spoke, but this doesn’t bother Amy. She knows that Hope’s been in Germany with her grandparents over the past summer and they’ve sent each other a smattering of texts here and there. The same thing they’ve been doing for the past year while Amy was in Botswana. It’s been…hard. Thinking and then trying not to think about Hope. But good. 

Amy also knows that Hope comes back today. She’d figured that Hope would be too exhausted to text her, much less see her. But the text is clear on her phone: _halfway there! i know classes have started for you already but do have a couple of hours to spare to show me your new dorm?_

Amy won’t lie, it kind of makes her panic a little. But before she can even craft a response, another text comes in. 

_my plane lands at 1:18 pm._

Amy glances at the clock, plenty of time to clean her dorm up a little and change into something a little more…appropriate. She looks down at her clothes: a worn Crockett t-shirt and sweatpants. Yeah, she’ll definitely need to change.

She fires a text back: _of course i do! you sure you won’t be too tired? also do you need me to pick you up from the airport?_

Hope’s response is quick. _nah i’ll find my way over there. what dorm are you in?_

Amy sends her the information just as another text comes in from Hope. _ain’t no rest for the wicked._

Amy smiles even though she actually does want Hope to catch up on her sleep. But Amy won’t lie. Because it’s been a year and Amy wants to see Hope just a little bit more than that.

At precisely 12:08 pm, Amy’s just finished lunch when she hears a knock on her door. She frowns, briefly thinking of Hope but more likely just one of her dorm mates. But when Amy flings open the door, she finds that luck isn’t necessarily on her side today.

“Hope?”

“Hello.”

“What are you doing here?” Amy asks without thinking.

As Hope thinks about how to answer this, Amy looks at her – really looks at her, takes her all in with her tanned skin and rosy cheeks and everything else Amy’s envisioned for the past year. But better.

“I got an earlier flight,” Hope says somewhat slowly. “Should I come back later?” She asks when Amy doesn’t respond.

“Shit, no. Sorry. Come in.” Amy motions her inside as she helps drag one of Hope’s suitcases inside. 

She notes how Hope doesn’t have nearly enough stuff to move into a dorm. She looks up at Hope to ask her about it but finds her much closer than she expected. So close that Amy can feel the warmth radiating off Hope’s skin, as if she’s been standing in the sun. Amy is suddenly acutely aware of the fact that she’s still in her t-shirt and sweatpants.

“I should change,” she mutters, partly to herself.

“I think you look fine.” Hope hooks a finger into the pocket of Amy’s sweatpants as she bites her lip. Amy wonders if Hope’s doing that on purpose. “Can I kiss you?”

“Yeah,” Amy breathes before she can stop to think.

Hope smiles slightly, leans down, and kisses Amy. Amy’s thought about kissing Hope for months, literally ever since that night at Nick’s party. None of Amy’s dreams compare to the actual thing. And when Hope parts her lips for Amy, it feels like a year ago and Amy remembers viscerally that heady power of Hope responding, yielding to her touch. 

Hope slides an arm around Amy’s waist and Amy deepens this kiss, slips her tongue past Hope’s lips. She can feel how Hope practically wilts with desire when Amy leads. A guttural sound leaves Hope’s throat and settles itself somewhere on Amy’s tongue, as if giving the signal to be consumed. And Amy’s body just reacts. Her heart, her lips, and her tongue rushing to obey. But then Hope is pulling away, eyes still closed and lips still parted, frustrating Amy to no end.

“I wanted to see if it was as good as I remember,” Hope says softly. 

Hope straightens and looks around, while Amy is still in a daze.

“I brought some whiskey too. Hope that’s cool.” Hope strides past her and opens Amy’s mini fridge. Amy knows that Hope is fishing for something, that she wants something out of Amy. _So be it_ , Amy thinks resolutely.

They end up playing a game. Hope calls it confession.

“I ask you a question and you can either answer it or take a shot,” Hope explains, tapping the bottle with a finger. “And we go back and forth like that.”

“Got it.” Amy waves a hand to Hope, gesturing for her to ask a question.

Hope grins. “Did you miss me while you were in Botswana?”

“Yes.” Amy answers, looking her straight in the eye. Hope only smiles wider.

“Do you wish you had visited me in Botswana?” 

Amy knows it’s a proxy question for what she really wants to ask. Hope smirks but her eyes are soft.

“Yes.” 

Amy tables that for now, satisfied with the answer.

And they go back and forth like that for about an hour.

“How many girls did you sleep with while you were in Botswana?” Hope asks, her eyes unapologetic. 

Amy tilts her head slightly, wondering why Hope had asked how many and not if she had at all. She doubts Hope will let her get away with saying that the number isn’t zero. So, Amy gestures for the bottle and Hope passes it over, watching Amy take a swig, intrigued. This is Amy’s third and she’s kind of feeling it. Hope has had four. Not that there’s anything to indicate that, what with her long body draped across Amy’s chair in repose, unfazed and beautiful.

“How many people did you sleep with during your year?”

“One.” Hope answers. Amy is surprised by the clipped tone of her voice but doesn’t press her.

“Why did you kiss me at Nick’s party?”

Amy smirks. “Because you wanted me to.” Amy pauses. “Why did you want me to?”

Amy asks it somewhat playfully but abruptly Hope’s eyes turn to stone and she reaches across for the bottle wordlessly taking a large gulp. Hope blinks slowly, lip curling a little in disgust and Amy rises from her perch on the bed to grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge. She opens it and holds it out to Hope who flashes her a grateful smile.

“What do you think would have happened if we hadn’t kissed then?” Hope asks thoughtfully after she takes a sip of water.

“I would have told Molly how much I disliked you,” Amy replies automatically, belatedly realizing how bad that sounds. Amy looks up at Hope quickly, horror-stricken, but Hope’s face is unreadable. Amy sighs. _Too late for a shot now_.

“I would have really disliked you,” Amy repeats in resignation. “You thought I was meek.”

It’s a statement but Hope confirms it.

“I did.”

“I think I could have been okay with that. I understand how I could have been perceived that way, and there was probably a certain truth to it. But you were goading me in the bathroom, negging me.”

Again, Amy isn’t asking but Hope speaks again, eyes blazing as she leans towards Amy.

“I was. You _were_ meek and there’s a fight in you that I – “ Hope stops suddenly and Amy wonders what she had been about to say. “There’s a fire in you that was constantly diminished. Or you’d just shrink and shrink yourself, and it was so frustrating to watch.” Hope stops again with a sigh, running a hand through her hair. “I wanted to see you angry.”

Some of that old anger flares up in Amy.

“That’s what got me. That you judged me so harshly, that you thought I didn’t have and experience anger. Even though I have anger, so much of it. That’s what the so-called meaningless protests are about.” Amy doesn’t mean to practically spit this last part out, and she does feel a twang of guilt when Hope flinches. But it doesn’t stop her. She didn’t realize how much she wanted to talk about that night. “You thought I was meek, and you were right to think so. But to…provoke me, just because my anger doesn’t look like yours or just because you don’t witness it…or even just for shits and giggles…” Amy trails off, shaking her head. “I would have really disliked you.”

The air between them is silent and thick.

“You’re right,” Hope says finally. “I was trying to get a rise out of you. And I did think those things. I was wrong. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry for calling you a basic hot girl.”

Hope shrugs. “I was then.”

Amy who had been fiddling with her blanket, looks up at Hope fully.

“No, you weren’t.”

“Ouch, so I’m not hot anymore, huh? Maybe I did peak in high school.” 

Amy laughs as Hope rises from her seat and plants her elbows in the bed, leaning toward Amy with a small smile in place.

“Truce?” Hope asks. And she’s so close to Amy’s face it reminds her a bit of that night at Nick’s aunt’s house. But this time Hope isn’t hiding behind scoffs and scowls, and all Amy sees and feels is want.

“Yeah.” 

Amy leans forward and meets Hope where she is in a tender kiss. When Amy pulls away, Hope leans her forehead against Amy’s, biting her lip and eyes still partially closed. It piques something in Amy’s memory.

“I had one more turn.”

Hope pulls a little further away and tips her head forward. “Go for it.”

“Was it as good as you remembered? Kissing me?” Amy elaborates at Hope’s frown. Hope quite literally brightens.

“Better.” Amy glances away from Hope’s intense gaze before looking back at her as she speaks again. “I should get going.”

“It’s kind of late, you sure you don’t want to stay?” Amy asks as she tries to ignore how much that sounds like a line.

Hope hesitates. “I really want to. But I think if I do, I won’t be very…gentlemanly.”

“I mean, I’m a lesbian so I hope not,” Amy replies, bewildered.

Hope looks at her before tilting her head back as she laughs.

“I guess chivalrous is a better word.” Hope pauses. “I want to stay but I’d also really want to… sleep with you is my point. So, better to resist temptation, right?”

“What if I want it too?”

The way Hope’s looking at Amy makes her think that, for some reason, Hope had not considered this option. But then Hope's expression falters, and she glances down at her hands quickly.

“We can be…friends if you want,” Amy tells her hurriedly, the mortification coloring her cheeks.

“Oh, no. Let me be clear. I do want to sleep with you. And I don’t want to be your friend. I wanna take you out. Like on a date.”

“I don’t think any those things have to be mutually exclusive,” Amy says under her breath, looking down at her hands as she sulks.

Hope laughs again. “I just really like you, okay? I’ve liked you for awhile. Long before that night at Nick’s aunt’s house, apparently.”

Hope’s eyes go wide like she’s let slip a terrible secret. And Amy watches, helplessly fascinated as Hope’s expression becomes closed off, threatening to leave Amy on the outside. But Amy doesn’t back away.

"Wait, you liked me? In high school?"

Hope looks at her like she's grown a second head, her brow furrowing in both resignation and anger in a way Amy doesn’t understand.

" _Of course_ , I did." The way Hope says it makes it seem as if she's pushing the words past her lips. She barks out a laugh. "Since like junior high, according to Annabelle."

Amy blinks. "You never said –. You never looked at me. You...picked on me. At best."

Amy doesn’t really get how the atmosphere had changed so drastically. Hope tilts her head at Amy, almost as if she had said something offensive.

"I _always_ looked at you. I picked on you because you wouldn't leave me the hell alone."

"What are you talking – “ 

"I thought of you so often. You were in my head all the time. Your laugh, your smile, your drive, your compassion. All of it. I've just been cataloging all of it. I didn't even know what for. At the time," Hope adds with a shaky sigh.

And that's when something inside Amy clicks. This is another confession. That Nick's party wasn't the beginning for Hope, but rather an explanation for all those times before. Amy steps toward her.

"I didn't know you were paying attention," Amy comments, a little awe-struck as she tilts her chin up towards Hope with inscrutable eyes. 

"I didn't either," Hope sighs, shoulders twitching in a defeated shrug. "I guess I've just been gathering memories of every moment that I've adored you."

_Fuck_. Talk about Amy being swept off her feet. Amy doesn’t hesitate as she leans up to kiss Hope, savoring the way Hope responds like a reflex.

Hope stays over.

\---

“Sorry, did I just hear that your first crush was the white cat from _The Aristocats_?” Hope asks. 

Hope bursts into laughter as she joins a panic-stricken Amy on the couch where she’s FaceTiming Molly and apparently, Annabelle as well.

“What was the cat’s name again – Lady?” Hope asks between her laughter.

Amy gives her a wry look, even when Hope pats her knee. 

“No, that’s _Lady and the Tramp_ ,” Annabelle corrects with an amused grin. She shoots Amy an apologetic look.

“It was Duchess,” Molly informs them, clearly enjoying this.

Hope doesn’t know why, but this absolutely kills her. And she has to duck away for a moment, holding her stomach, as she laughs and laughs. 

“You know that’s bestiality, Amy,” Hope admonishes teasingly, causing a new wave of giggles to overtake her. 

When she regains some of her composure, she glances at Amy a little guiltily. But Amy is only glaring at Molly. Amy finally looks at her, if a little annoyed, when Hope squeezes her hand.

“Who was your first crush then?” Amy asks Hope.

“Emma Watson.”

“Uh-uh. Be honest, Hope. Or I’ll tell Amy myself,” Annabelle cuts in, giving Amy a companionable wink.

Hope stills, and it’s now that she understands what Amy has probably been feeling this whole time. Annabelle is lucky that she’s hundreds of miles away. Annabelle seems to know it too as she gives Hope a shit-eating grin.

“It was Andy’s mom from _Toy Story_ ,” Hope says finally.

There’s a single beat of silence before Molly and Amy break down into giggles.

“Did you invent milfs, Hope?” Molly wheezes, barely getting the sentence out before dissolving into another fit of giggles.

“We don’t even see her face until the third one,” Amy points out, a few breaths of laughter escaping her. 

“She’s in the background throughout,” Hope mumbles, staring hard at her hands. She grimaces at the new onslaught of Molly and Amy’s chuckles. Even Annabelle lets out a snort of amusement. _Traitor_.

Everyone finally simmers down and they’re about to hang up when Amy says, “You know, Annabelle, Molly’s first crush was Tony the Tiger.”

Molly looks relieved but this doesn’t last long as Amy continues without batting an eye.

“But that’s a lie. It was Alton Brown.”

Annabelle turns to Molly in surprise, a gleeful smile slowly making its way across her face.

“Amy – “ Molly starts through gritted teeth but Amy ends the call mercilessly.

Hope whistles. “Brutal, Amy. Take no prisoners.”

Amy sends her a wicked grin. “You got that right, motherfucker.” A pause. “Get it? Because you had the hots for Andy’s mom? What was it about her? Her mom jeans? Her flattering yet functional cardigans?”

If it were anyone else, Hope would be kind of pissed and come back with a bitchy remark. But it’s Amy and she’s cute and the light in her eyes makes Hope’s insides squirm. Hope shoves a pillow in her face anyway.

\---

“I don’t see why it’s such a big deal. I’m taking care of it.”

“I just think missing a test is kind of a big deal,” Amy tells her as they enter Hope’s apartment.

“I told you, I overslept. I know it was my fault. And anyway, my professor is letting me make it up.”

“I’m just saying that you could have told me. I could have helped. I know school can be overwhelming.” Amy tries to keep her voice level but it’s difficult. Hope’s glowering at her shoes, and Amy doesn’t quite remember how they got to this point.

Hope scoffs, arms folded, closed off. "You don't know me."

Amy feels her expression break a little before it reassembles itself into something even she doesn't really recognize. Almost repeats back Hope's own words from that night at Nick's party. But instead she bites out, "Who's fault is that? _You_ pulled away while I was in Botswana, not me."

Because to Amy, that’s where the problem lies. That she’s still grasping at Hope’s changes in expression and tone, and the reasons for those changes. It frustrates Amy because she feels behind like she should already know these things.

Hope looks at her then, both angry and exasperated. "It was _hard_ , Amy. We weren't friends in high school. You knew nothing about me."

"But that was the point of us...talking. You're right. I didn't know you." Amy shrugs her shoulders helplessly. "But I wanted to. I wanted to know you."

Hope's shoulders sag, defeated but her jaw is still tense. Her fingers twitch restlessly over the hem of her shirt. Amy just wants to touch her but she doesn't. 

"I wanted more," Hope says simply. 

The way she says it kind of suspends time because it conveys emotions that seem a little out of place for their current conversation, especially for Hope: all vulnerability and longing. Amy tucks it away to admire later. 

Amy can tell that she wants to continue but seems almost physically unable to. Amy sees how Hope battles with herself, and in the middle of this, Amy sinks a little deeper in what she feels for Hope in that valiant effort. 

"I know it was ridiculous. To want more. But I did. And I just hated feeling as if I didn't deserve to miss you."

_That_ Amy can understand. But before she can say anything, Hope is speaking again like she's been waiting for months to let this out. 

"You're so selective in who you love, in who you consider close and you're so kind to people in general, to everyone. I was worried that I wouldn't be able to differentiate between the two. I was afraid that we wouldn't be on the same page." Hope rolls her eyes, self-deprecating, clutching her arms tightly. "I was afraid to even ask about it."

Amy is kind of bewildered by all of this, that Hope could ever have been insecure about them. Beautiful, brooding Hope who's always been so _sure_. How they could have had these exact same thoughts about each other, how they have tried to mirror-dance around each other like that blows Amy’s mind. It's like they're going to the same destination but they're on separate trains, trying to communicate through the windows as they speed along. 

Hope closes her eyes as she reaches up and rubs her temples, and Amy senses that Hope needs something from her in this moment.

"I was scared by how much I wanted you too," Amy tells her. "But I wanted to try to know you anyway. Even with the very real possibility that you'd find someone else." 

Hope lets out a strangled laugh, somehow both relieved and pained. "You were always braver than I was. A real badass."

Amy steps toward her, holds out her hand almost bashfully. But she's proud to say her hand doesn't waver.

"Who takes no prisoners and cries in the bathroom at parties."

Hope groans. "Will you ever let me live that down?"

Amy sees the change, the ease in Hope's shoulders, the way Hope takes her hand firmly.

"No, because I am a badass who takes no prisoners and cries at parties." Hope laughs and Amy feels like they're meeting in the middle of something important. "I'm sorry for overreacting. I just want to be a part of your life. I still just want to know you, that's all," Amy says.

"I'm sorry for not telling you. I've wanted you for so long. I guess I'm not used to you wanting me back." 

Amy somehow sees it before it actually happens. The corner of Hope's lips downtick just slightly at the corners, eyes hardening. Amy's beginning to recognize these tell-tale signs of Hope feeling vulnerable, exposed. Amy shakes their conjoined hands as if shake her from it.

"Well, you better get used to it. Because I do want you. So much."

And Amy sees it in Hope’s face, the way the clouds seem to recede behind her eyes, now clear and open. Amy leans up to kiss her, revels in the warmth of Hope’s lips and being with Hope in general. Amy desperately wants to live in that.

\---

For Christmas break, Hope and Amy plan to go to New Haven as soon as their finals finish. From there, they'll all carpool back to L.A. with Molly and Annabelle.

Hope gets a text from Amy on Wednesday, the day before her final, informing her that Amy's just finished her last final and to text her when Hope finishes hers tomorrow. And good luck on said final. With a yellow heart. Which makes Hope's own heart jump slightly. They've been on a handful of dates since Amy got back from Botswana but Hope doesn't really know what they are. And it's driving her wild. Amy, for her part, seems content to just go with the flow. Which is both endearing and exasperating all at once.

Hope sends her a peace sign, along with _will do_ before trying and failing to refocus on her political science notes.

They get to New Haven on Friday, when Molly and Annabelle have both finished their respective finals. Molly and Annabelle pick them up in Annabelle's car, which is thankfully only halfway stuffed with all of their things. Hope starts shoving her bag into the trunk. But Amy takes one look at Molly and Annabelle and insists on driving. Molly protests half-heartedly with tired eyes, but Annabelle tosses Amy the keys with a grateful smile. 

"Sleep," Amy insists to Molly as Hope slides into the passenger seat.

Molly grunts in objection but her eyes are already closed.

They're less than an hour into the drive when they hit traffic. Hope also notices that Annabelle and Molly are fast asleep, sprawled across the back seat. Amy's got her eyes trained on the cars in front of her, trying to be gentle with the frequent stops of traffic so as not to wake them. 

Hope can't help but watch her. Amy's shoulders are relaxed, one hand at the top left of the steering wheel, while the other is at the bottom of it, her elbow resting on the center console. Hope's kind of surprised that Amy's hands aren't strictly at ten and two. They inch along, and this doesn't seem to bother Amy in the slightest. In fact, she lets many cars through even after some asshole swerves in dangerously close to them. Amy's only reaction is a soft click of her tongue against her teeth but there's still an ease in her shoulders. Hope can’t think of a time when Amy has looked so…untroubled before now.

"You don't have much road rage," Hope comments, looking sideways at her.

"Oh, I have plenty of road rage," Amy replies matter-of-factly.

Hope smiles briefly, amused. "I kind of find that hard to believe. Hell, you even let people into your lane."

Amy glances at her this time with a slight frown. "Well, yeah. They’re just people trying to get over."

Hope's kind of very fascinated by this response for some reason and she turns her body slightly to face Amy a little more. 

"You let a lot of people get over, and we're in traffic," Hope points out. 

The car isn't even moving at this point. So, Amy looks at her again, her frown more pronounced than before. Hope can't explain it but it reminds her of the moment before Amy kisses her the second time in Nick's aunt's bathroom. It's an expression that's uniquely Amy's, one full of concentration with decision right on its heels. Hope is a little embarrassed to remember that night with such clarity, after such a long time. But mostly she just finds it beautiful. Finds _Amy_ beautiful.

"We're all trying to get somewhere," Amy answers with a shrug. "Why should it matter if I'm fifteen feet back and a handful of seconds behind schedule?"

Against all forms of reason, Hope finds this moment thoroughly romantic. And whatever she's been feeling for Amy over the past few months - few years if Hope’s being honest, Hope feels a little more of that. She's also a little conflicted by the fact that Amy can sweep her off her feet without even an ounce of effort. Hope wonders what it would look like for Amy to actually try but doesn't get very far in that train of thought. Hope doesn't think she'd know what to do. _Fuck._

“I do have road rage,” Amy continues when Hope doesn’t reply, her hands clutching the steering wheel a little bit tighter for a moment. “It’s mostly reserved for the dickheads who drive recklessly and don’t care about other people’s safety. Not for those who are also just trying to get home.”

Hope openly stares here, can see how Amy’s nervousness builds. But she just wants to take a moment to marvel at how Amy continuously chooses goodness. Hope loves that about Amy: that she doesn’t back down from effort.

“I know we didn’t really know each other in high school. But I’m glad to get to know you now.” Hope wavers for a moment, wants to say _I want to know everything about you. I want everything._ But doesn’t. Instead, says with a grin, “Better late than pregnant, right?”

Amy laughs, low and clear. Hope bites her lip to keep from swooning.

“Yeah, I’m glad too.” Amy moves her hand away from the steering wheel and holds it out to Hope, palm face up. Hope slides her hand into hers and intertwines their fingers like a promise.

\---

“But _why_ didn’t you read them? Didn’t you go to the movie premieres and such?” Amy presses as they plop down at a table in the library.

Hope nods. “Yeah, Annabelle made me go. The movies were great, felt real.”

Amy waits for Hope to say more, but Hope appears content with this review.

“So, you felt no inclination to read them?”

“Not really. Look, _Harry Potter_ is cool and all but I was more of a _His Dark Materials_ kid. And then the movies came out, and I didn’t see the point in reading them anymore.” Amy looks at her in disbelief. “Don’t tell me this is a deal-breaker for you?” Hope jokes.

“Do you even know what house you’re in?” Amy asks.

Hope furrows her brow thoughtfully as she grabs her laptop. Amy makes no move to do anything just yet. Because Hope’s answer is very important.

“I think it’s Narnia…”

Amy clicks her tongue against her teeth as Hope laughs.

“Fuck you, Hope,” Amy says, suppressing a smile as she reaches into her backpack.

“Are you offering?” Hope smirks.

Amy rolls her eyes. She’s gotten more used to Hope’s innuendos but they sometimes still make her blush.

“Yeah, I’m gonna need you to take a quiz.”

Hope stares at her.

“What? Oh my god, this _is_ a deal-breaker,” Hope says, shaking her head.

“It’s not a deal-breaker.”

“Sure seems like it,” Hope says, but she’s trying not to smile and even when she’s trying not to smile, Amy’s still falling for her.

They go quiet as they dive into studying.

An hour or so later, Amy takes a break and glances at Hope, who has her arms folded, slouching in her chair as she people-watches. Amy doesn’t get how she can _look_ like that, cool and casual. And beautiful. The type of beautiful that makes you pause. Amy’s suddenly very grateful that Hope mostly sat towards the back of classes during their high school years.

As if she can feel Amy’s eyes on her, Hope looks sideways at her, pulling an earbud out.

“I got Ravenclaw,” Hope states and when Amy nods her approval, Hope rolls her eyes.

Hope goes back to people-watching and Amy, as much as she resists, goes back to watching Hope, admiring the slope of her nose and the curve of her jaw. 

It’s not surprising that Hope is a Ravenclaw, but Amy still holds onto it like it is. Amy wonders how Hope manages to do that: to be completely unsurprising but still rip the floor right out from under her anyway.

\---

The first time Hope stays over at Amy's first apartment, she forgets clothes to sleep in. Like a dumbass. Literally brought everything else: her toothbrush, clothes for the next day, even another pair of shoes. But not clothes for sleeping. Which they're getting ready for right now.

Hope straightens and glances down at her jeans before turning to the clock at Amy's bedside. Maybe it's not too late to go back... Amy notices all of this.

"What's up?"

"I forgot to bring pajamas," Hope mutters.

"You can borrow clothes from me," Amy says, gesturing to her dresser and rubbing a towel across her hair. Hope can smell her from here. Hope didn't think about how much of a... distraction it is to be engulfed by Amy's scent, all clean and floral and Amy.

She moves silently to the dresser to un-muddle her thoughts. She finds a pair of loose shorts easily enough but the t-shirts give her pause.

"You have a bunch of 5k race shirts," Hope observes.

"Oh yeah, my parents got me into running super young. We do the Turkey Trot Race every year, well except for last year for obvious reasons. And you know, volunteering and all that you accumulate a lot of shirts. Had to get rid of a bunch," Amy tells her, scrolling through her computer.

Hope straightens, letting her hands fall to her side. "You run?"

Amy looks up now, puzzled. "Not competitively or anything, but yes...Is that surprising?"

Hope looks down and plucks a shirt from the middle of the pile. She likes the color of this one, _nothing_ to do with the fact it seems as if Amy's scent is sewn into every seam.

"Yes. But mostly I just find it stupidly attractive," Hope replies, her voice softer than usual. 

Hope finds it so strange that for as long as she's watched Amy, pined for her, there's still so much more to know. God, it makes her feel almost lightheaded.

Amy clears her throat. “We could go for a run one of these days.”

Hope bites her lip to keep from making a face. Hope does not run because running is gross. But she doesn’t want Amy to know that. Doesn’t want her to think that Hope doesn’t support her hobbies or that Hope is a lazy blob of a person or whatever. 

“Sure, yeah. Sounds like fun,” Hope comments noncommittally. She glances up at Amy finally, who looks as if she’s trying not to smile. 

“We could even train for a triathlon,” Amy suggests, eyes bright with what Hope thinks is excitement.

Hope shifts her gaze down to the t-shirt in her hands, desperately trying to come up with an excuse to not do that. Because that just sounds god-awful and Hope is almost sure that she will die. But then Amy bursts into laughter, making Hope’s heart skip a beat.

“I’m just fucking with you, dude. But I do expect you to be waiting at the finish line if and when I do run a race,” Amy says, grinning.

Hope sighs in relief.

“I’ll be waiting with a kiss,” Hope assures her with a teasing grin but she thoroughly means it.

Amy makes a face even as her cheeks redden.

“I’ll be all sweaty and gross.”

“I actually think you’re kinda hot when you’re sweaty – when you’re wet – when your _hair_ is wet,” Hope corrects hastily. _Fuck, what is happening?_ Since when is Hope this mess of person who doesn’t know how to talk to a girl, to her girlfriend of all people?

“Uh-huh, yeah,” Amy responds, nodding innocently. But her crooked smile tells Hope that she knows everything Hope had said is true. 

Hope very rarely feels thrown off, but she near constantly feels that way around Amy. Even after a year or so of dating. Hope yanks her shirt over head a little more aggressively than intended. But she catches sight of Amy’s hungry eyes, hands hovering over her keyboard, and Hope feels finally, blissfully in control again. 

The hem of the shirt falls well past her hips and it makes Hope laugh, picturing Amy in a shirt this large.

“This is so big,” Hope says, holding her arms out for a moment. “It must be a tent on you.”

Amy opens her mouth to say something but falls silent as Hope reaches for the zipper on her jeans, tugging them off.

“Sorry, am I distracting you?” Hope asks, trying not to sound too smug as she slips into the shorts.

“Not at all,” Amy answers dryly. 

Hope throws her hair up into a bun as she strides over to Amy. She leans down and stops inches away from Amy’s lips.

“Thank you for the clothes. They’re very comfy,” Hope tells her, smiling slightly at the fact the way Amy’s gaze flicks to her lips.

“I think I should be thanking you for looking like that in my clothes.”

But before Hope can reply, Amy closes the distance and kisses her. Hope, almost instantly, parts her lips and indulges in Amy’s tongue against hers before pulling away. Hope closes her eyes briefly before nudging Amy aside and climbing into bed next to her. She slides down under the covers and leans against Amy’s shoulder.

“What are we watching?”

“We don’t have to watch anything honestly,” Amy says quickly. But then she frowns, catching herself. “Sorry, was that sleazy?”

Hope laughs. “A little. But it’s you and I’m into it.” 

Hope pushes herself up to kiss Amy, but then Amy pulls away.

“Wait, so are you into it _because_ it’s me or – “

Hope, after moving Amy’s laptop gently to the desk that is thankfully within reach, shoots Amy an exasperated look before kissing her again, hard.

“You tell me,” Hope says against her lips, touching the bare skin just above Amy’s hips.

Sometimes, when Hope kisses Amy, she feels like she could do this forever. And even though it scares the shit out of her, she really hopes they get that far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there's a lot going on rn so idk stay safe and treat yo self i guess? hope everyone's well and thanks for reading!


	3. i do

“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing, there is a field. I’ll meet you there.”  
-Rumi

###### 

They’re in Central Park and Amy’s pretending not to notice Hope taking not-so-discreet pictures of her and whatever else.

“Are you excited for your senior year?” Amy asks, reaching over for a grape from the Tupperware before pushing the rest to Hope. She remembers that they’re Hope’s favorite, the purple ones not the green ones. Amy can’t help the small smile when she spots Hope reach for a couple absently.

“More ambivalent,” Hope replies, fiddling with her camera.

She doesn’t elaborate and Amy doesn’t ask. A companionable silence sits between them.

“Can I ask you something?” Amy asks abruptly, just barely stopping herself from wincing when she hears the shutter click.

Hope looks up from her camera and nods.

“Do you think taking a picture of someone is indicative of loving them?” 

Amy frowns after the question, almost wishing she hadn’t asked. But Hope merely gives her an appraising look before replying.

“I think I used to think that way, whole-heartedly. Doggedly. But there was a time in my junior year of college when I wasn’t particularly loving and I wasn’t taking pictures. Like at all. And I still felt that…spark that precedes it. That desire to capture something or someone in that moment in time.” Hope shrugs. “Now, I’m not sure love in its enormity can happen in a moment. I think love or attraction or whatever is related to how long I choose to focus on that person, not if that focus exists at all.”

Amy doesn’t recognize then what Hope is trying to tell her. Won’t recognize it at all until much, much later when Hope points it out: if love is a choice, Hope is continuously, unquestionably choosing Amy. 

For now, what Amy feels for Hope comes in waves and this moment feels like one that’s cresting, threatening to take her over. Amy will cite this as the moment that she knew she was irrevocably, undeniably in love with Hope. Or at least, one of the moments.

“What happened your junior year?” Amy asks thoughtlessly.

Hope blinks and tilts her head at her. A series of emotions flit across her face, too quick to identify even one, finally settling on a gentle, curious…something.

“We broke up,” she answers softly.

Amy visibly recoils, heart pounding. She’s ashamed to admit it but she’d kind of forgotten the time when they weren’t together. To her credit, she doesn’t remember much from that time. 

“I’m sorry,” Amy tells her lamely. She wants to say more, _I’m sorry for making the wrong decision, for hurting you. For everything._ But she doesn’t. 

Hope’s looking at her with such a tender expression that Amy wants to draw back again, because she doesn’t _deserve_ it. It was her fault, after all.

“You don’t have to be sorry, Amy. I’m not angry with you. Well, I might have been during that time. Seven stages of grief and all that,” Hope adds, eyes twinkling and despite her inner turmoil, Amy smiles. “But I don’t harbor anything now. We were younger then, different people.”

Amy is in awe of how _open_ Hope is about her feelings. Hope who had always been so hard to read and is still so hard to read sometimes, but still willingly makes herself known to Amy. And it’s so _much_ , to feel so much for Hope in such rapid succession like that. Amy will cite this as the second moment she knew that she was in love with her. Another cresting wave. 

Amy turns her face towards the sunlight in an attempt to rein in her emotions. It’s a fruitless one though because it feels the exact same way that Hope makes her feel constantly: engulfed in warmth. It’s staggering and Amy needs to put it all somewhere. She looks around quickly before moving forward and kissing Hope. It lasts all of a few seconds, and when she pulls away, Hope’s eyes are surprised even as her cheeks are tinged pink. 

Amy whips out her phone and snaps a picture. This seems to be enough to snap Hope back to reality.

“Amy!” Hope protests.

Amy rolls her eyes. “You’re a photographer, Hope. You, of all people, should understand the importance of capturing moments. Besides, you never blush.”

Amy feels proud when she elicits a chuckle from Hope.

“I know I don’t have to be sorry for that time, but I am. Even though I was going through stuff, even though it wasn’t my intention to hurt you. I am sorry for being so stupid,” Amy says. Because she has to say it. Hope has to know that if Amy could, she would take it all back and do it differently.

“You’re not nor have you ever been stupid,” Hope replies. “You were doing what you thought was best for you at the time. I won’t fault you for that, even when I was angry with you I didn’t fault you for it.”

Amy looks away and bites her lip. Hope is already so hot on her own. But emotionally mature Hope is the type of heat that can only occur from a collision of things: unexpected but absolute in its consequences.

“How is it so easy for you to be so…thoughtful and understanding? Not that you weren’t before but…” Amy says, the words coming out in a rush as she attempts to distract herself from Hope’s lips. 

Hope laughs, both low and light somehow. 

“You, of all people, know that I wasn’t always. I learned from watching you. And Annabelle,” Hope adds, glancing down at her camera again before stuffing it into its case.

Amy is speechless. She thought she had a pretty good idea of who Hope is. And she still thinks that to some extent. Amy remembers the early days of when they were dating the first time around. She remembers wishing that she could watch Hope for awhile just to see. Although, Amy didn’t know what she expected or wanted to see. She feels that again, now, and knows that she’s at a point of rediscovery. Amy is so lucky that she can rediscover who Hope is. And Hope is somehow even more painfully attractive now than she was then. Amy watches, powerless, as the sunlight dances across the planes of Hope’s face and makes time standstill.

“Ready to go back to your apartment? Because you look like you wanna take me back to your apartment,” Hope says with a smirk. She doesn’t bother waiting for Amy’s reply as she starts stuffing her water bottle and food containers into her backpack. 

Amy thinks back to that time, the time when they weren’t together, too much, she knows. She’s still just trying to figure out how she fits into Hope’s life after all that. Amy imagines it much like a wound, now healed, but she still moves like it’s there.

Hope rises and reaches down to pull Amy to her feet, smirk still in place, holding Amy’s hand a beat longer than necessary. And Amy still doesn’t understand it, how they managed to get here. Hope herself has never been particularly interested in understanding that. So, when she presses smiling lips to Amy’s hairline, Amy thinks maybe she shouldn’t be either.

\---

The first time Amy stays over Hope’s new apartment, Hope’s almost certain it’s because she made dinner from scratch. 

Amy, of course, arrives a little early, which Hope should have anticipated but didn’t. Hope glances at herself in the hallway mirror because she does that now apparently. She smooths down her dress that she knows Amy likes before pulling the door open.

Amy is also in the dress, clutching a bottle of wine and something in a paper bag. Radiant and rendering Hope speechless. 

“Hey, you look great,” Amy greets, grinning over at her.

“Thank you, so do you,” Hope says mildly, trying not to stare. “Come in.”

She moves aside and Amy brushes past her, making Hope stiffen as Amy’s scent lingers in the air.

“I brought some cake. We had some left over at my internship and I thought it best not to leave it at my place because I will eat it all.”

Hope laughs. “Glad to take it off your hands.” She shoots Amy an embarrassed look. “I kind of got a bit behind and haven’t started dinner just yet. I was thinking of making pasta, you good with it?”

“Sounds fucking delicious.”

Hope glances at her watch. “The dough should done resting. Do you wanna watch Netflix or listen to music?”

“Music is fine,” Amy answers as Hope gestures to the Bluetooth speaker nearby. “Wait, the dough is done resting?”

“Yeah, so it should be thirty more minutes-ish?”

Hope reaches into the fridge to pull out the dough.

“You’re making pasta from scratch?” Amy asks, voice abruptly softening at the end. Hope looks up at Amy curiously as she finishes tying an apron around her waist. 

And Amy’s staring back at her in a way that makes Hope want to skip dinner altogether.

A moment passes between them, charged and crackling.

“Uh – yes,” Hope answers, clearing her throat. “Pasta’s my favorite thing to cook.”

“You like to cook?” Amy asks further, her tone still just as soft, just as intense as before. 

“Yeah,” Hope says, frowning a little in her confusion. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a chef. My parents were very encouraging and stuck me in a bunch of cooking classes.” Hope shrugs. “It comes in handy.”

Amy chuckles but it sounds a little strained.

Amy sets about picking the music and Hope pours wine for them before sprinkling flour on the dough and getting to work.

“So, how’s your writing coming along? I read your article on that Tisch dance performance. It was really well-written, Hope.”

Hope looks up at Amy sharply, reeling from Amy’s earnestness. Hope’s been writing for the school paper for last few semesters now. She’s stopped putting links to her articles in their group chat with Molly and Annabelle, just because Hope has articles posted relatively regularly and it’s not nearly as exciting as it was in the beginning.

The Tisch dance performance was her most recent one. The fact that Amy read it, the fact that Amy even remembered that she was still writing for the paper makes Hope feel a little embarrassed. And maybe a little charmed.

“Thanks. My writing’s going well. I had gotten one of my pieces published in this cool magazine. They even published a couple of my photos so I’m hoping to land a job there when I graduate. I’ll have to show you the article some time,” Hope says, finally recovering herself somewhat and rolling the dough beneath her hands.

“I’d love to read it,” Amy answers with such sincerity that Hope has to force herself to keep her eyes on the dough. Even though what she _wants_ to do is abandon it and kiss Amy long and slow instead.

As if sensing her struggle, an alarm on Hope’s phone goes off and she silences it with her elbow before swiping her hair away with the back of her wrist.

“Do you mind pulling that tray out of the oven?” Hope asks, nodding vaguely at the space next to her.

Amy takes a half-second longer to respond.

“Yeah, sure.” 

She rises and pulls the tray of crispy Brussel sprouts, cut in halves, that Hope thankfully had the foresight to make. Amy sets the tray on top of the stove to cool.

“There’s an aioli dipping sauce in the fridge – what?” Hope asks self-consciously, noting the way Amy’s staring at her again.

Amy removes the oven mitts and strides up to Hope slowly, her eyes fascinated and dark.

“It’s just unfair how…gorgeous you look,” Amy answers in a low voice. Hope tries not to blush. But then Amy reaches up and brushes gently along Hope’s hairline, removing the flour that had gotten stuck there from earlier.

The air is so thick around them, Hope feels as if she can’t move. Can barely breathe if she’s being honest.

“Even in the apron?” Hope asks with a light laugh, hoping to relieve the pressure around them.

Amy’s lips quirk into a rare smile that makes Hope’s throat go dry.

“Especially in the apron.”

Amy brings her hands up to tug gently at the apron ties, lingering at Hope’s waist, before moving away towards the fridge. Hope stands stock-still for a moment as she gathers her thoughts.

“That’s not very feminist of you,” Hope teases, desperately trying to gain some leverage, going back to the pasta dough.

Amy shrugs, quickly dumping the Brussel sprouts into a bowl before resuming her perch in the stool across from Hope.

“Women in aprons are attractive.”

“Didn’t take you for a misogynist.”

“I didn’t mean in the kitchen,” Amy responds, watching her closely, eyes gleaming and hooded.

Hope’s brow shoots up, her cheeks reddening.

“Oh.” _So much for the upper hand._

Hope goes back to the dough, cheeks still warm as Amy takes a bite of the Brussel sprouts.

“How are they?” Hope asks, finally sticking the newly made noodles in the pot.

“They’re alright.” Amy takes another bite with a casual shrug, mischievous glint in her eyes.

Hope snorts and flicks some flour towards her. 

When they sit down to eat, Hope can’t help but watch for Amy’s reaction as she lifts the fork to her lips. When she bites down, Amy’s expression is so enraptured that Hope stops eating for a moment. Hope also thinks that she may have just convinced Amy to stay over. 

After dinner, they make their way over to Hope’s room. Hope wants to show Amy that article she was talking about earlier. Her parents were so proud that they had it framed.

Hope touches Amy’s elbow to get her attention but feels her stiffen beneath her fingertips and Hope retracts her hand slightly.

“Sorry.”

“No, no,” Amy says quickly, spotting the look on Hope’s face. “I just forgot how good your touch feels.”

Hope frowns. She wasn’t trying to be sensual, and the fact that Amy may have perceived it as such unsettles her a little. Like Hope’s only motive is to win her over rather than to make her happy. But Amy doesn’t notice as she touches her hand to Hope’s bed.

“Can I lay down in your sheets?” Amy asks suddenly, so enthusiastic that she misses how that might sound. “Or do you still have that thing about strangers in your bed?”

“No,” Hope lies, and Amy sees right through her immediately, looking skeptical. “I mean, you’ve been in my bed before and I was hoping you’d stay over anyway.”

“Can I?” And Amy looks so eager and hopeful, Hope forgets for a moment that it was her idea.

“Yeah.”

Amy unceremoniously kicks off her shoes and tosses herself under Hope’s comforter, sighing audibly.

“Fuck, these feel so good! You always had the best sheets, goddamn,” Amy says, her voice a little muffled.

Hope chuckles, striding over. “Move over, nerd.”

Amy shuffles over to the side as Hope steps out of her shoes and climbs in next to her. It both thrills and scares Hope how familiar it feels to lie next to Amy like this.

“I had to forget a lot of things about you,” Amy tells her quietly. “Your scent, your sheets. All of your casual touches. So that I could miss you less.”

Hope forces herself not to look at Amy, as if any sudden movement may startle her into silence.

“Did it work?” 

Amy doesn’t answer immediately.

“Not really, no.”

Hope looks sideways at her, sees the way Amy stares distractedly at the comforter as she succumbs to thoughts that make her jaw clench. Hope reaches over and touches that point in Amy’s jaw, briefly disrupting that tension, before leaning over and kissing Amy’s lips.

“I missed you too,” Hope murmurs, pulling away just barely. “I missed you everywhere.” She slides her lips to Amy’s cheek, kisses her there. Hope’s lips are now skimming down Amy’s neck. Another kiss and Hope loves the way Amy’s breathing changes. Hope brings her lips back to Amy’s, deep and deliberate.

Before Hope knows it, she finds herself on her back, dress bunched up around her hips, Amy balanced on her knees above her. Amy moves a hand to Hope’s neck, the other to her hip. Amy’s touch is both invigorating and intimate, and Hope knows it’ll ruin her a little. 

“It’s like I don’t even know where to start,” Amy says softly, staring down at Hope in wonder for a brief moment.

Hope takes this moment to roll them over, and Amy’s look of surprise makes Hope smile smugly. Even though Amy’s hands on her thighs feel like a unique form of torture.

“Well, I know exactly where I want to start. Should I get the apron now or – “ 

“Next time,” Amy says breathlessly, pulling Hope closer.

Hope can’t help but smile as she kisses Amy’s hot lips again, slow and intense, reveling in the fact that there will be a next time.

\---

Hope and Amy decide to visit Molly and Annabelle for spring break. Molly and Amy are sitting at the island in Molly and Annabelle’s apartment as Hope and Annabelle move about the kitchen. They’ve just finished dinner, and Annabelle had suggested dessert and had received enthusiastic approval as an answer.

“What are we having, chef?” Molly asks, smiling eagerly. 

Annabelle cracks a few eggs into a bowl with a brief smile. 

“My grandmother’s white chocolate macadamia cookies.” Annabelle glances at Hope. “And something else for my sous chef here.”

“You’re lucky you’re the better baker or else we’d be having something that’s actually chocolate. Because white chocolate isn’t chocolate. Chocolate, by definition, is made with cacao seeds and white chocolate is not made with cacao seeds. So, I don’t know why – “

“I know, Hope. That’s just what this flavor is called,” Annabelle interrupts with a roll of her eyes. They clearly have had this argument before. Amy exchanges an amused look with Molly.

“Wait, you don’t like white chocolate macadamia cookies, Hope? Not even grandma Cheryl’s recipe?” Molly questions.

“Grandma Cheryl is a godsend and delight,” Hope answers, inclining her head to Annabelle and even though Annabelle rolls her eyes, she looks pleased. “But facts are facts. White chocolate isn’t chocolate and it is, therefore, the inferior flavor.”

“Them’s fightin’ words, Hope. You can make your own chocolate chip cookies then,” Annabelle threatens.

Hope’s expression becomes suddenly, comically somber and everyone breaks into laughter at the sight.

“You’re the better baker,” Hope mutters, measuring out the sugar.

“And don’t you forget it,” Annabelle replies, clapping Hope on the shoulder.

And Amy sees it then, something that she’s seen only a handful of times before: how Hope’s eyes turn golden a millisecond before her lips pull into a smile. It confirms Amy’s theory that Hope’s smile originates from her eyes.

Molly nudges her curiously and Amy gives her a small somewhat bashful smile. Molly’s eyes flick to Hope and Annabelle before mirroring Amy’s smile with a quiet nod because she gets it.

When the cookies are finally done, both Amy and Molly burn their tongues, unwilling to wait for them to cool. Amy, Molly, and Annabelle devour them, and Amy eats way too many. But even as her waistband protests, she and Molly beg for more.

“So that we can send some home with Amy,” Molly pleads.

Hope lets out a soft snort as Amy presses her lips together. They’re not leaving for another couple of days. Molly knows this. Amy suspects this new batch of cookies wouldn’t be _just_ for her. But Amy doesn’t mind being used as a scapegoat.

Annabelle rolls her eyes, but eventually gives in. “Fine. Later.”

Hope’s eyes, touched by king Midas, are amused. But she doesn’t touch the cookies. 

Hope is reading in bed when Amy bounces in next to her.

“Close your eyes,” Amy instructs, beaming.

Hope looks up and does as she’s told. “Why?”

“Open your mouth.”

Hope makes a kissing face.

“I said open your mouth, horndog.”

Hope laughs before opening her mouth, eyes still closed.

Amy places a small piece of the white chocolate macadamia cookie on Hope’s tongue and Amy leans a little closer, watching Hope’s expression as she chews.

“Tastes like betrayal,” Hope says finally, opening her eyes and making a face, nose wrinkling in a way that Amy finds distinctly adorable. “I thought you loved me. It’s a good thing you’re hot.”

“I really thought you were going to like it,” Amy says, frowning a little in disappointment.

Hope shrugs with a small smile.

“I wish I did for you.”

Amy looks down at her hands because she doesn’t know when or how to tell Hope that she loves everything about her. Or at least doesn’t think telling her this now is an appropriate time. Especially since Hope still looks vaguely disgruntled as she brushes crumbs from the bed. 

But then Hope looks up and leans forward, places a gentle hand on Amy’s cheek, and presses her lips to hers. It’s subdued and delicate. Amy can still taste the cookies faintly on Hope’s tongue. But as good as they were, Hope always tastes better.

\---

“Let’s have dinner,” Hope tells her as they’re walking back from a coffee shop, toward Amy’s apartment.

Amy looks at her quizzically. 

“I thought we _were_ getting dinner?”

“I meant like a date.”

Amy’s frown deepens. “I thought we were already dating.”

“I’m trying to keep the romance alive,” Hope says with a roll of her eyes as Amy chuckles.

But when they sit down for dinner, Hope knows something’s up almost immediately. Amy has a tendency to chew on her lip when she’s ruminating. Hope steals a glance at Amy, who twirls her spaghetti on her fork almost mechanically. Hope waits. But if Amy has the tendency to ruminate, then Hope has a tendency to cast lines as she calls it. That is to say, Hope will ask a multitude of questions, hoping it’ll land in the realm of what Amy’s thinking about and she’ll latch onto it. All Hope has to do really is ask the right question.

“Can you believe you’re almost done with your junior year of college? You’re going to be a senior soon.”

“I know.” Amy sends her a brief smile.

Okay, so the passage of time isn’t bothering Amy.

“I’m excited for the summer. I miss real sunlight,” Hope says. Amy blinks at her but it almost looks like a wince. _There it is_ , Hope thinks. 

Hope waits a moment more, watches Amy frown at her plate, her hand tightening around her fork, as if fighting herself. 

“Amy…”

Hope reaches over and lays a hand over Amy’s, squeezing it briefly before setting her hands in her lap. Amy looks up at her, and swallows. It breaks Hope’s heart a little. Amy takes a big breath and for some reason, that seems to repair it.

“Do you remember me talking about possibly working with a nonprofit over the summer?”

“Yes,” Hope answers slowly.

“Well, I mentioned to my advisor back in January that that was my goal. She said she might have something in mind but it might not pan out. So, I didn’t think much of it. She sent me an email a couple of weeks ago saying that she’ll be working for UNICEF over the summer and asking me if I wanted to work with her. For school credit, of course.”

Hope grins. “UNICEF? Amy, that’s amazing! I’m so proud of you! I – “

“It’s in Jordan.”

Hope freezes a little. But before she can speak, Amy continues.

“We’d get to work on a girl’s and women’s leadership program, develop an entire curriculum. But it’s for the whole summer. In Jordan. Honestly, I’m not really sure about the whole thing, I have to think on it for a little bit longer.”

Hope doesn’t say anything, lets the silence feel heavy between them. Hope can see how much she wants it, so surely Amy isn’t suggesting what Hope thinks she’s suggesting. Hope grinds her teeth a little at the thought.

A moment later, the waiter comes by the with check. Hope sees Amy reach for her wallet.

“Don’t you dare,” Hope says, her tone harsher than she intends it to be.

“Hope,” Amy says a little desperately.

“You paid last time,” she clips in response. 

Amy retreats and Hope lays her card down on the receipt. The silence falls between them again, somehow heavier than before. They carry it with them as they walk back to Amy’s apartment. Hope stares at the ground the entire time, hands stuffed into her pockets.

When they finally arrive, it’s eerily quiet. But then Hope remembers that Amy’s roommates have already left for the weekend. She rounds on Amy as she shrugs out of her coat.

“I might not even go,” Amy tells her quietly. 

That clinches it for Hope, and she clenches her jaw as if to physically keep her anger in. Looks like Amy was hinting at _that_ after all.

“You’re going,” Hope tells her stiffly.

“I don’t – have to.”

“No. You are going.” Amy’s shaking her head so Hope plows on through. “I’m not asking you. Unless you have a better opportunity elsewhere or you have a damn good reason, you are going to Jordan. To work at UNICEF.”

Amy blinks. “You want me to go?” This serves to infuriate Hope more but Amy continues. “What about us?”

Hope can’t quite believe what she’s hearing if she’s being honest. This is Amy Anstler, practically born for greatness. Amy who was always meant to do good things for people. Amy who has always wanted to do good things for people. And here she is now, opportunity on a fucking platter and she’s thinking about not taking it? Hope rubs her temple with one hand, eyes closed.

“I want to be with you.”

Hope’s eyes snap open. It’s one of the more romantic things that Amy has said to her. And if it were any other time, Hope would melt and reach out to kiss her. But it’s not one of those times. 

“You used to want more,” Hope retorts coolly as memories of Amy ranting about one thing another flash across her mind’s eye. “God, Amy, come on. This is your dream. And you’re thinking about not taking it? Because of me?” Hope shakes her head somewhat disdainfully. “Fuck. We’re not gonna be that couple that holds each other back. We’re not. I refuse.”

Hope folds her arms across her chest and shakes her head again. Amy stares back with what looks like curiosity and awe. 

“I thought you would be upset if I went. I thought you wouldn’t want me to go,” Amy says finally, almost dreamily.

“I’m upset you didn’t tell me earlier. But I can and do forgive that. I get it, holding off telling me because it was up in the air. For future reference, I would still wanna know. I’m worried for your safety. And I’m gonna miss you like crazy.” Hope pauses, heart twitching as if to foreshadow this. “But I’m more upset that you would think that I wouldn’t want you to go. Because I would never, ever tell you not to. Because _of course_ I want you to pursue your dream.”

Amy takes a step toward her, slow smile stretching across her lips. Hope perches herself on the armrest of the couch nearby because _that_ smile in particular has never failed to make Hope weak in the knees.

“Three months is a long time,” Amy says, but her smile is still there.

Hope rolls her eyes. “Please. I did long distance with you for a year. Three months is a piece of cake.” 

She lets Amy wrap her arms around her neck as Hope’s own arms rest loosely around Amy’s waist.

“You understand why I was upset, right?” Hope presses because she needs Amy to understand. “If you wanted a girlfriend who’d ask you to choose her over everything else, you picked the wrong girl. I’m never going to let you want less.”

Amy looks up at the ceiling, languid smile on her lips. When Amy looks back at her, her eyes are bright and adoring. Hope’s breath catches in her throat. Hope feels so much for Amy all the time and sometimes she forgets that Amy can feel just as much for her in return.

“I understand. I’m sorry for not telling you earlier. I’m sorry for underestimating us and you. I won’t do that again.”

“I mean it, nerd. I need you to aim high because I’m trying to be a trophy wife.”

Amy laughs, loud and clear.

“First or second?” Amy teases, arching an eyebrow.

Hope’s jaw drops, scandalized, and Amy laughs again. 

“Final. No, wait. First and only. You’re not playing the field or whatever the fuck.”

But this only serves to make Amy laugh harder, and the only way Hope can think to shut her up is by kissing her. So she does. 

\---

They finally move in together when Amy graduates. It was the logical next step. But the first time Amy comes home from work, to Hope, she freezes in the doorway. Hope is barefoot in a sleeveless white shirt, tucked into her jeans which are cuffed around the ankles. And she looks so comfortable, so at ease, that Amy has visions of their future, unwarranted and obvious.

It hits Amy like a ton of bricks. That they share this space and not only will Amy get to see Hope all the time but also see every version of Hope: bed-head Hope, domestic Hope, editor Hope. 

Hope gives Amy a sheepish grin.

“I stepped in a puddle and now my shoes are all gross,” Hope explains. She flops down onto the couch.

Amy closes the door with a short laugh.

“It’s okay. You look nice barefoot, homey.”

“What, you have a foot fetish you’ve been hiding from me? Because with that and the apron fetish, you might have just been a white male from the 1950s in a past life.”

“Well, if it means there’s dinner on the table when I get home – “ 

Amy ducks, laughing, when Hope tosses a pillow at her.

Amy watches Hope pull on a pair of socks and another pair of shoes. As Hope reaches down to tie the laces, a lock of hair falls away from her forehead. It’s an ordinary scene but Amy feels suddenly electrified like the universe is telling her to pay attention now, _right now_ , because this moment is vital to her lifeblood. It feels seismic and impossible, and Amy becomes so quiet that when Hope straightens, she seems a little startled by Amy’s expression.

“You okay? You look a little flushed,” Hope asks, her tone laced with concern. She rises and strides across the room to Amy, wrapping gentle fingers around her wrist.

“Yes, I just think you’re very pretty,” Amy answers lamely.

Hope smiles at her curiously but otherwise doesn’t press her. Amy wants to explain it but she doesn’t know how. She can’t help but wonder if these unremarkable moments with Hope are gonna constantly knock her over and steal her breath away. But maybe it’s just Hope who knocks her over and steals her breath away. Amy follows Hope out the door and thinks how she could let her. 

\---

Hope’s sitting on the bed when she hears a commotion in the hallway and tries not to groan. The door flies open a moment later, causing the nurse in front of her to jump.

“Amy – “ Hope starts, attempting to smother a fire before it starts.

“What happened? How is she?” Amy asks the nurse frantically.

Hope glances at the nurse. “You don’t have to answer that. Thank you for your help.”

The nurse nods. “I’ll be back in about fifteen minutes. But the call light is at your bedside if you need me sooner.”

They watch her walk away in silence, Amy turning to gape at Hope in betrayal.

“You should have let me talk to her.” Amy gives her a worried look as she moves towards Hope. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.”

There’s a flash of irritation in Amy’s eyes before it disappears.

“You’re in a hospital.”

“Amy, I’m fine. It’s just a few cuts and bruises,” Hope replies, trying to keep her tone placating.

Amy’s eyes narrow, stepping closer.

“Where?” she demands.

Hope was counting on her not asking that. But Hope sighs in resignation and flips the hem of her skirt, exposing the edges of the purple bruise peeking out from beneath a couple of large Bandaids on her left knee. She thinks that this will have appeased Amy somehow, but she seems to know that Hope must have more injuries as she stands in front of her with folded arms, jaw set. Hope sighs again and gingerly lifts her shirt a little while simultaneously tugging her skirt down a couple of inches. The skin along her hip is covered in gauze and the sight of it draws a gasp from Amy.

“It just looks impressive. It’s not a big deal. The doctor said they’re just superficial but she wants a CT scan just to be sure. I just came back from an X-ray,” Hope tells her, her eyes following the way Amy wrings her hands over and over again.

“What happened? They just told me that you were in an accident.”

Hope looks up into Amy’s face and belatedly realizes that Amy had been crying and is desperately trying not to do so now. Hope reaches out to take her hand and draws Amy to her with a gentle pull, letting her head rest against Amy’s chest. The gesture was mostly meant to calm Amy but Hope feels her shoulders relax considerably at Amy’s touch.

“I’m okay,” Hope says softly, leaning back and placing one of Amy’s hands against her cheek. “Some asshole just wasn’t looking and it was too late for me to swerve, so I rammed into him at like fifteen miles an hour. Which felt pretty fast on a bike.”

“You were wearing your helmet, weren’t you?” Amy asks anxiously. She runs a hand through Hope’s hair. Hope suspects Amy is checking for injuries but she does it so tenderly Hope barely cares.

“Yes.” Hope decides that it’s probably not the best time to tell her that she needs a new helmet.

They discharge Hope when her CT scan and X-ray come back normal. As Amy reads the discharge instructions intently, Hope tries to tuck her helmet discreetly under her arm. But when Amy is done reading, she spots it almost immediately.

“Is that your helmet?”

“Yeah,” Hope says quickly. Too quickly and Amy narrows her eyes.

“Why does it – can I see it?”

Hope hesitates for a brief second before handing it over to her silently. There’s a deep crack in it, from the base of the helmet to the top of it. Hope knows it looks bad.

“It was only chipped when I got hit,” Hope tells her hastily.

Amy raises her brow.

“This isn’t a chip.”

“No, it isn’t,” Hope admits, rubbing at her neck. “I – uh, made it worse. When that guy hit me, I stood up and threw my helmet off to cuss him out. I guess when I threw it that – “ Hope waves at it vaguely, “happened.”

They’re quiet for a moment and Hope doesn’t dare look at her.

“Okay,” Amy says finally.

“You’re not mad?” Hope asks, glancing sideways at her.

“No,” Amy chuckles. “I think you’re incredible.” Hope frowns quizzically at her so she continues. “You get hit by a car and the first thing you do is stand up to tell the guy to fuck off?”

“I told him to do way more than that,” Hope mumbles. Amy gives her a strange look, like she wants to laugh but also like she wants to kiss her. Hope can’t say that she isn’t a little disappointed when she doesn’t.

Amy shakes her head with a small laugh. “Incredible.”

They get back to the apartment and Hope sets about making dinner. Her side aches a little but she doesn’t want to worry Amy. So, she casually asks her to cook the rice while Hope stiffly chops vegetables.

Amy makes her way over.

“When you’re done adding the rice, we can start the curry,” Hope says, glancing at her over her shoulder. But Hope double-takes, her side protesting sharply in pain, when she notices that Amy hasn’t moved. “Amy?”

Amy turns her head just barely towards the sound of Hope’s voice.

“You could have really been hurt,” Amy whispers.

Hope’s at Amy’s side in an instant, and even when Hope spins her around so that they’re face to face, Amy’s eyes are trained on the helmet cradled in her hands. Hope leans down a little and finally catches her eye.

“I could have,” Hope tells her truthfully and Amy’s eyes fill, “but that’s the point of the helmet, right? To protect me, even if it does provide an inaccurate representation of what happened.”

Hope pries it gently out of her hands, and tosses it into the trashcan, before pulling Amy into her arms. Hope winces a little when Amy’s arms brush against her sides, but when she tries to pull away, Hope just holds onto her tighter. She finally feels Amy sigh into her, and Hope presses her lips to Amy’s forehead, letting her lips linger there for a moment. She feels Amy tremble slightly against her, so Hope rubs soothing circles against her shoulder blades which seems to help.

Suddenly, Hope’s stomach growls and she gives Amy a sheepish grin when she pulls away slightly to look up at her.

“Hungry?” Amy asks, arching a teasing eyebrow.

“Yeah, and my day was pretty shitty so…” Hope replies with a faux nonchalance.

Amy chuckles and looks around for a moment.

“Do you wanna just order take out?”

Hope sighs, only just now realizing that she absolutely does not want to cook.

“Fuck yeah, I do.”

\---

When Amy gets a text from Hope asking when she’s coming home, Amy swears under her breath. Amy stops what she’s doing and sends a quick text back before inwardly cursing all the dumbasses who let their presentation fall through the cracks and now she’s stuck at the office finishing it for tomorrow. Normally, she’d take this as a 'teachable moment' as their director likes to call them. But they’re presenting to the committee tomorrow and it _will_ reflect badly on Amy if the presentation isn’t great.

Amy’s phone pings and she opens up her messages again.

_oh. it’s ok. i’ll leave you leftovers then._

Something in Amy reacts slightly to this short message from Hope. Normally, Hope will offer to come up and they’ll co-work in Amy’s office with a late dinner. But Amy knows Hope has to be up early tomorrow, so she figures that must be it.

Amy sends her a heart emoji just as another email from her boss comes in asking for a progress report. Amy pinches the bridge of her nose.

When she gets home, close to eleven, Hope is already asleep. Amy tries her hardest to move silently through their apartment. When she finally climbs into bed, she notices that Hope has fallen asleep with a book. Amy stops for a moment, enthralled by the way Hope’s chest rises and falls with her breath. But then she feels weird about it and gently extracts the book from Hope’s hands, setting it aside.

Amy glances at Hope again, finds herself half wishing she’d wake up. Because it’s hitting her now how long it’s been since they’ve had a real conversation. A profound ache washes over Amy, so she reaches over to brush a few strands of hair away from Hope’s face. But this only serves to make Amy ache more. She shakes her head, mentally berating herself and maybe a little irrationally worried that Hope can somehow sense Amy’s turmoil in her sleep. Amy notes how Hope’s brow has dipped into a barely perceptible frown. Amy turns out the light. Just as she’s falling asleep, she feels Hope reach for her in the darkness and that ache in Amy’s chest, still present, lessens.

They don’t sit down to eat together until the next couple of days after that. And that’s when Amy notices something’s off. She watches Hope spear a spinach leaf and stick it into her mouth absently, glancing out the window as she does so.

“You okay?” Amy asks, lowering her own fork slightly, watching Hope carefully.

Hope’s eyes flick to hers. “Hmm? Yeah, I’m fine.” Hope takes a breath as if gathering herself. “How are you?”

“Hope,” Amy says, softer than before. 

Hope frowns distractedly at her fork. Amy waits.

“I’m…I just – it’s been a long time since we’ve seen each other,” Hope starts.

“It has, close to two weeks,” Amy guesses. 

Amy loves working at the nonprofit. And she loves that Hope is finally being recognized for her writing and photography. She does. But the worst part of all of it is that they often have times like these, where the only time they get to see each other is when they’re passing each other on the landing of their apartment.

“I’m so sorry about dinner the other day,” Amy says again and Amy knows that that’s what’s bothering Hope. Even after all this time together, Amy doesn’t quite know how to explain how she knows. Maybe it’s the way Hope’s brow smooths almost imperceptibly but quite suddenly. Or perhaps the way Hope’s lips uptick in a brief smile that doesn’t crinkle the corners of her eyes.

“I know. It’s okay, it’s not your fault,” Hope replies. Amy can hear her sincerity but her face doesn’t change.

“Are you…upset?”

Hope blinks and glances again at the street. Hope takes a moment to respond. And Amy waits.

“I’m not upset with you,” Hope answers finally, her gaze coming back not to Amy but to her plate. “But I was looking forward to it. I had…planned a romantic dinner with you. But I get it. I get why you had to stay and work.” Hope adds in a rush.

Amy knows Hope isn’t trying to make her feel guilty, but she feels a pang of it anyway.

“I just missed you. I miss you,” Hope amends. “That’s all.”

Hope has never not supported Amy’s work. In fact, Hope has pushed her when Amy was unsure. But that doesn’t mean Hope is wrong. It’s been almost two weeks since they sat down to have a meal together. They even had to schedule this most recent attempt because they were both so busy and Hope put in a lot of work only to have it delayed. Amy gets it. It’s a strange place to be in: supportive of the other’s success but still desperate for some of their time.

“I am sorry,” Amy repeats. “I forgot to text you earlier that I wasn’t gonna be home in time. I will work to make sure that doesn’t become a habit. The dinner did look good though.”

It doesn’t really feel like a resolution to Amy, she knows that they’ll both still be busy. But Hope doesn’t seem to care as she gives Amy a small smile. It’s one of those times where Hope just needs to express her turmoil, needs to feel heard. And that Amy can do.

“Yeah, I noticed you didn’t eat it.” Hope arches an eyebrow playfully. “Why won’t you let me take care of you?”

“I can be neglectful,” Amy admits. “It’s a lot of work, caring for me.”

Hope smiles slowly, like a challenge, and Amy’s heart races at the same pace.

“No, it isn’t. At least, not to me.” 

Amy feels as if her heart has risen to her throat, and she glances down at her food for some relief from the implications of it all, of Hope reflecting back in a single sentence all these big emotions that Amy has for her.

Hope reaches out for Amy’s hand, her thumb grazing Amy’s knuckles. Amy lets this tender gesture ground her.

“You can get dessert to make it up to me,” Hope states, eyes bright.

“White chocolate raspberry cheesecake?” Amy offers innocently.

Hope, having just taken a bite of her salad, scowls and flips her off.

\---

Hope has to admit it. They’ve been dating too long for Hope to avoid calling it what it is: Amy Antsler is a klutz. Normally, this isn’t a problem. Hope actually finds it weirdly charming when Amy spills her coffee or when she comes home from work with a new stain on her.

However, this morning it is very much proving to be a problem as Amy stumbles into the kitchen, still not fully awake.

Hope is on the phone with her mom when Amy reaches up for a mug, exposing the skin above her hip and abdomen. Hope stills at the sight.

“I’ll call you back, mom,” Hope says, not even bothering to wait for a response as she ends the call.

“Amy, do you need some help?” Hope asks patiently, rising from her seat.

“Got it,” Amy mutters, stretching her arm as far as she can in vain, the movement dragging Hope’s gaze to Amy’s waist again. _Jesus._

“I insist,” Hope says, reaching around her and grabbing the mug with ease. “I really don’t want to have to go back to the doctor and explain how you sprained your other shoulder so…” Hope pauses. “I couldn’t help but notice that you’re wearing a crop top.”

Amy is normally already dressed for work, so of course Hope would notice. Among other reasons.

“I’m going in a little later today but…this shirt was the only one I could get on without any help,” Amy says, slowly pouring herself a cup of coffee.

Hope’s lips twitch into a sympathetic smile. Amy had sprained her shoulder two weeks ago after deciding it was good idea to use a desk chair to reach for a book. A chair with wheels. Hope remembers with a shudder how Amy had calmly asked her to take her to the hospital. Amy’s shoulder is in a sling now and she hates it. The fact that it’s on her dominant side makes the entire thing even worse. Doing things, like pouring coffee, takes more effort and more time. So, Hope often has to help her with other things, not that Hope minds. But Amy does.

Amy turns and Hope’s eyes go immediately to the dark purple bruise across Amy’s collarbone. It’s still quite impressive.

“Just six more weeks and then you’ll be a free woman,” Hope teases. 

Hope reaches out to Amy, letting her hand brush the exposed skin.

“You’re much too distracting this early in the morning. Maybe you can throw on an oversized hoodie?”

Amy gives her a strange look. “It’s July.”

“Sweatpants?”

“It’s still July.”

“You exist to torture me.”

Hope leans down to kiss Amy’s forehead but stops suddenly.

“Lipstick,” Hope answers sheepishly at Amy’s frown.

“Last gallery meeting before the open house, right?” Amy asks.

Hope nods. “I’ll help you get dressed?”

Amy doesn’t really need help, but even she admits that it’s faster when Hope helps.

“You’re loving this, aren’t you?” 

Amy finishes her cup before turning to go back to the room, Hope following in her footsteps.

If Hope’s being honest, she’s always a little anxious helping Amy put on clothes. Taking clothes off is nice, to say the least, but putting them on makes Hope worry that she’s gonna hurt Amy by tugging too hard on a sleeve or accidentally poking that nasty-looking bruise. Amy assures Hope that she’ll be fine and she hasn’t so much as flinched in the past. But Hope worries anyway.

“Can you put my hair up in a bun?” Amy asks.

Hope nods, moving forward and taking the hair tie Amy’s holding out to her. Amy’s hair is still a little wet but Hope puts it up without much difficulty. Then, Amy tugs her shirt off, standing in just her bra and sleeping shorts. And Hope is frozen, staring at the length of Amy’s back and the curve of her neck. That sane part of Hope’s mind falls abruptly silent, and Hope leans down to press a kiss to the point just below Amy’s neck and shoulder. But to Hope’s slight horror, when she pulls away, she finds a red lipstick stain, stark against Amy’s skin. 

Hope takes half a step back to keep herself from pushing Amy up against a wall.

“Did you get lipstick on me?” Amy questions, turning her head slightly.

“Yes,” Hope manages to breathe out. 

Amy turns at the tone of her voice, a sly smile making its way across her lips when she spots the look on Hope’s face.

“Is this a kink? You have a lipstick kink?” Amy asks, grinning like she’s discovered some juicy secret.

“No,” Hope answers quickly. Because she doesn’t, she’s seen Amy wear lipstick before. It’s fine. But she can’t deny that there’s something about seeing her own lipstick on Amy’s skin that makes Hope feel a little desperate. And _yes_ , maybe a little turned on. Whatever. Because it’s like she’s marking Amy in some way. The way she would if she were to leave a hickey. _Shit._

“Whatever, it’s no secret that I’m attracted to you,” Hope mutters even as the heat creeps up her cheeks. 

Amy wiggles her brow at her. Hope glowers at her hands, reaching for a makeup wipe on the bedside table.

“Wait, show me,” Amy says.

Hope sighs, vague frown still in place. Then she remembers that she’d left her phone in the kitchen. She spots her DSLR on the bedside table and grabs that. She motions for Amy to turn around, ignores the way her breath catches in her throat, and snaps a picture.

Hope flicks back to the picture and shows it to Amy. A dawning comprehension graces her features.

“I can see the appeal,” Amy says evenly.

Hope silently takes the makeup wipe again and rubs at the spot before helping Amy into her sleeveless shirt. Hope focuses on carefully doing up the buttons of her shirt, heart thrumming at this small intimacy. 

“We should try it some time, I’d love to see how it’d look on you,” Amy says when she’s finally dressed. Hope eyes her warily because she can’t tell if Amy’s being flirtatious or thoughtful.

“Six weeks from now,” Hope reminds her as they make their way out of the apartment.

Hope’s locking the front door when she hears Amy reply.

“Maybe sooner, according to my doctor.”

Hope drops her keys.

“What?”

Amy stares at her for a moment, clearly enjoying how she’s making Hope squirm. Hope dives down for the keys, blushing hard.

“Why don’t I pick up dinner after I get off work?” Amy asks as they’re walking down the steps. “We can watch _The Lizzie McGuire Movie_ and make out.”

Hope laughs. “Sounds good. I’ll make lemon squares for you too.”

Hope doesn't particularly like lemon squares, she thinks they taste a bit like cleaning supplies. But Amy _loves_ them.

“Really?” Amy asks gleefully, eyes gleaming. “You know that I’m still gonna insist that Hilary Duff is hotter as a blonde, right?”

Hope rolls her eyes. “You just like blondes.”

“I do.” Amy grins at her. “You should think about dyeing _your_ hair blonde.”

“Why can’t you love me as I am?” Hope jokes.

Amy tilts her head back in a laugh.

“I do.” She pushes herself up on her toes to kiss Hope’s cheek. “I do,” she repeats.

Hope can feel Amy’s earnestness in the way it practically fills her gut like a warm meal. Amy squeezes her hand before they part ways.

“Wait, you’re still making lemon squares, right?” Amy questions with a worrying frown.

“Yeah,” Hope chuckles.

“Okay.” Amy nods decisively, like this fact is helping to steel herself for the day. 

Hope walks away with a small smile, the words _nerd_ and _love of my life_ echoing around in her head.

Alright, okay, Hope loves Amy. A lot. It’s nothing new. It’s not even a question. It’s not a question that Amy loves Hope either, Hope knows. Hope thinks about what a privilege it is to be sure of something like that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> does this count as productivity? yes, right?


End file.
